


Ship of Death: The Opening of the Doors

by Jen Hall (Greenlady)



Series: Ship of Death [2]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-12 14:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenlady/pseuds/Jen%20Hall





	Ship of Death: The Opening of the Doors

******************************************  
Part Two: The Opening of the Doors  
******************************************

They had been lying in bed together, the last night before Ken left for Cairo.

'Egypt isn't San Francisco, Ken,' John had observed. 'And it isn't Los Angeles. Hell, it isn't even Salt Lake City.'

'No kidding. What's your point, John?'

'I'm saying that life in Egypt can be problematic for men of our... varied sexual tastes.'

'Perverts, you mean?' Ken laughed. 'They have sex in Egypt, John. Even gay sex. I checked.'

'They probably have gay sex in Antarctica, Ken. The point is, in some places, especially Islamic countries, gay sex can be highly dangerous.'

'It's not illegal in Egypt,' Ken pointed out.

'Not strictly illegal, no. But people have a charming habit of interpreting the law to fit their own prejudices. I checked.'

'I know. You try and pick up a man, and you're charged with prostitution. Or obscenity. Or littering. That doesn't only happen in Islamic countries. It happened right here in America, not so long ago. Maybe it still does.'

'When I was a teenager,' said John. 'I was outside a gay bar, in Dallas. I was too scared to go inside. I'd never had sex with a man, only once, with a girl in the back seat of a car, like most other teenage boys. But I knew I wanted to try it. With a man, I mean. The police raided the joint, and I was hauled in, just for being outside on the street at the time. I told them it was an accident, that I didn't know it was a gay bar, and they let me go. But the cop who arrested me warned me. He said he knew I was there out of curiosity. He told me, if I had sex with a man, it would warp me for life.'

'Now that's true,' said Ken, with a laugh.

'He told me, if I wanted a normal, happy life, I should forget about my interest in perversions. Get a girlfriend, he told me. That would straighten me out.'

'Is that what you're telling me to do, John? Because it sounds really warped coming from you, especially considering what you're doing with your hands right now.'

'Want me to stop what I'm doing?' asked John.

'Fuck, no,' said Ken.

He thought about that conversation now. He hadn't been so alone for several years, as he was now. John had been there, all day, every day, and at least one night a week. If he needed more sex than John could provide, he picked someone up. But, besides a regular sex life, John had given him security and affection. Now, he had severed those ties -- if not completely, to a rather frightening degree. They were ties which had not been unwelcome, he thought. That was one of the best relationships in my life, and I have ended it.

His limo pulled up in front of the hotel. Another limo was also arriving, along with an entire wedding party. The bride and groom got out of their own limo, as he was leaving his. The wedding party formed out the front of the Grand Hyatt Cairo, and were soon surrounded by the usual noisy group of drummers and belly dancers that accompanied the bride and groom to their reception. The Zaffa.

Ken was so obviously not a relative on either side of the family. He was not Egyptian, or anything but an American, but it didn't seem to matter. He was caught up in the celebration.

'May I come to the reception?' he asked, in Arabic, of someone who looked as if she were in authority. The bride's mother, probably.

'Of course,' she answered, politely.

The Zaffa took its time, wending its way to the reception hall. Someone handed Ken a glass of rose sherbet, and he politely joined in the toast to the health of the bride and groom. The newly married couple switched their wedding rings from their right index fingers to their left index fingers, and the party began.

The families were obviously wealthy, and wedding parties were an important display of wealth, so the singers and belly dancers were among the best. One of them, especially. She had dangerous curves, dark eyes lined with kohl, and spent time exchanging lascivious glances with Ken. He nodded and smiled, and the man next to him gave him a nudge.

'I can see it isn't only the groom who will be happy tonight,' the other man said.

Ken laughed. 'She has strong stomach muscles,' he said. 'I can tell from here.'

'Good for bearing children,' the other man pointed out.

'Wait!' said Ken. 'Who said anything about children? I just smiled at her. That doesn't mean I'm marrying her.'

The man laughed. 'Ha! Scared you, did I? Don't worry. Tahhiyya isn't the marrying kind, either.' He ambled off, chuckling to himself.

Good, thought Ken. A one night stand is just what I need.

 

********************

 

Michael Starsky showed up at his hotel room door, just as his overnight guest was leaving.

'Tahhiyya, allow me to introduce Michael Starsky,' said Ken.

The lady smiled sweetly, and offered her hand. Michael Starsky actually kissed it. 'That was one of Egypt's best known dancers,' he said, as he watched her walk away down the hall.

'I know,' said Ken. 'She has excellent muscle tone.'

Michael Starsky looked at him with a good deal more respect than he had the day before. 'Are you about to become husband number twelve?' he asked.

Ken choked on his morning coffee. 'Husband number what?' he asked.

'The lady has been married eleven times.'

'Holy... I was informed she wasn't the marrying kind.'

It was Mr. Starsky's turn to choke. 'You were misinformed,' he said.

'Someone having a little joke with me,' said Ken.

'Well, why not marry her?' asked Mr. Starsky. 'It might be fun for a time, goodness knows.'

'No. I've tried marriage, and I didn't like it.'

'The lady has also tried marriage, and she is clearly of the different opinion.'

'Serial polygamy,' said Ken. 'Why not be honest, and say you want a harem?'

But Ken thought about it as they drove to Luxor in the chauffeured limousine provided by the hotel. Did the dancer's lifestyle indicate deep cynicism, or an unfailing innocence? Was she treating marriage as an endless joke, or did she truly hope that each new relationship would be The One?

And he wondered about himself. He still wanted that lifelong relationship, and yet, at the same time, he knew he wasn't meant for marriage. Marriage with Vanessa had been one long battle, almost from the beginning. Would it be any different with a man? Men weren't that much easier to get along with, whatever Henry Higgins might say.

'I've been doing my research,' said Michael Starsky.

'Oh, yes?'

'I've been looking up the family chronicles, and all the mentions of the relationship between our families. I knew about it, as I said. I read some of the chronicles before, but I didn't pay as much attention as this time. Your grandfather knew more than I, but we didn't discuss it much. It was a settled thing, in our case. But since you were so curious about the matter, I went to some trouble.'

'Well, thank you. That was kind of you.'

'Not at all. It's important to me, as well as to you. There is a partnership between our families. But a curious one.'

'How so?' asked Ken.

'I'm not sure how it started, or why,' said Mr. Starsky. He opened a large briefcase, and took out a sheaf of photocopied pages.

Ken glanced at them, and smiled, wryly. They were in Hebrew, of course.

'I'm working on a translation,' said Michael Starsky. 'It's difficult, because the older writing is faded, and some of the passages are in a sort of code, I think. But the first reference I can find to the Hutchinson family goes back to the sixteenth century, or so I believe. One of my ancestors, David Starsky, left a letter for his son. The letter was preserved, and much later, the words were copied into the chronicle. This David Starsky commands his son, and all his descendants, to remember the name of Kenneth Hutchinson in their prayers.'

'What?' asked Kenneth Hutchinson, rather startled.

'The prayers refer to one of your ancestors, it is clear. The letter was written in the sixteenth century, remember?'

'Yes. Yes of course,' said Ken. He looked out the limo window, unto the dry, desert landscape of Egypt, and felt a strange chill. Someone just walked over my grave, he thought. 'Did the letter explain why he asked his son to do this?'

'No, at least not in the portions of the letter which were recorded. There may well have been more of the letter which was not preserved. And there were other mysteries about the man. David Starsky is mentioned an unusual number of times in the chronicles. They say he consorted with ghosts, and spirits.'

'I remember reading that the Jews were often accused of being magicians, because their written language was mysterious to the peoples around them, and because they usually kept themselves apart from non Jews.'

'Yes, that's true,' said Michael Starsky. 'But the interesting thing is, David Starsky was accused of being a magician by his fellow Jews. I think he disappeared at one point, perhaps because his reputation endangered him. The chronicle breaks off there, so I'm not certain.'

'That... that is too bad. I wonder if the rest of the chronicle is hidden away somewhere? Or was it destroyed? Interesting.'

'Yes. But we shall likely never know the truth. Who knows the entire depths of the human heart? People do things for the oddest reasons, and often don't even remember their reasons themselves.'

'Yes,' said Ken. 'We edit our own memories, in our minds. Take my childhood in this place.' He waved, to indicate the town of Luxor, through which they were passing. 'I have the strangest memories of the times I spent here as a child. There are things I remember happening, that now I know could not have happened.'

'How is that, please?' asked Michael Starsky.

'Well, look around you,' said Ken. 'There are modern buildings, mixed with the ancient ones. In my memories of Luxor, they didn't exist. And the way the people dress. It's all wrong.'

'Children often get confused,' said Michael Starsky. 'Perhaps you are mixing up Luxor with another place. Another village, perhaps?'

'Perhaps,' Ken agreed. 'But I remember the house.'

The limo stopped at the gates to his grandfather's house. Now it was his own house. He had never owned a house before, and now he owned several. This was the only house he remembered living in, though. The others he had just passed through, on his way to somewhere else. This house he had lived in. He felt his life in the house, as he turned the key in the lock, and the door swung open, to welcome him in. The house called to him, from its very depths.

Ken Hutchinson, you are mine.

 

***************

 

Luxor was composed of three areas -- the city of Luxor proper, on the east bank of the Nile; the town of Karnak to the north; and Thebes, on the west bank. Many years ago, Lawrence Hutchinson had bought a house on the west bank, in a tiny village near the temple of Hatshepsut. As was that great monument, it was built up against a cliff. Almost, at times, it seemed to disappear into the natural stone. The original house itself was very old, and Lawrence Hutchinson had been restoring the older parts of the building ever since. At the same time, he had also been adding to them.

As with most modern buildings in Luxor, the newer architecture blended in with the old. The adobe brick merged with the cliffs behind the house, and the ground beneath it. The house was styled with domes, rounded doors and windows, and stairways that mimicked the steps of the pyramids. The gardens were an oasis, filled with palm trees, and other local plants.

The interior was an eclectic mix of his grandfather's tastes, and those of his most beloved Leila. Upholstered European-style furniture, and spare Egyptian styles that might have been found in the tomb of a pharoah. Lawrence Hutchinson's collection of modern American paintings, and the local pottery, some of it built by Leila herself. A grand salon, with a dozen dazzling chandeliers soaring over a myriad of couches and love seats, and small, peaceful sitting nooks, with one chaise longue, and a side table.

The modern parts of the house had modern plumbing and cooking facilities. His grandfather always said that he could use Egyptian toilets if he had to, but in his own home, he preferred to sit down instead of squatting on his heels above a hole in the floor. Ken tended to agree. The electricity came from a generator, hidden in the cliffs, so there were no electrical lines spoiling the landscape.

He took several steps into the house, and all these technical considerations tore, and fell apart like wet paper. The real house was not adobe walls, and toilet seats. Nor was it chandeliers, and wall hangings. It was arches. Arch after arch, leading him further and further into its shadowed rooms. It was deep silence, and then voices, far off in the distance. Laughter and arguments, and endearments. It was darkness, and then light. Candles and hearth fires. It was dust. Dry, choking dust, and then water. Cool water drawn up from a deep well, and held out to him by a beloved hand. It was....

'Mr. Hutchinson? Mr. Hutchinson?'

He came back to himself, as if from a great distance. It felt like dragging himself away from a warm bed, and loving arms, to go out into the cold winter night, alone.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't hear what you were asking me.'

'Shall I put your luggage in the master bedroom, sir?'

Ah, yes. The housekeeper. She looked a little concerned about his health, and so he smiled politely, and nodded, and said, 'Aiwa -- yes, of course. That will be fine. Thank you -- shukran.' He could not for the life of him remember her name, but she smiled, and led the servants to his new bedroom.

'Are you well, Kenneth Hutchinson?' asked Michael Starsky.

'I think so,' he answered. 'This house holds a lot of memories for me.'

'Of course. I am negligent and forgetful to an unforgivable degree. You are still in mourning for your grandfather. It must be difficult to come back here.'

Ken Hutchinson smiled, kindly. 'You are not negligent at all,' he said. 'You have been very kind and helpful. Please. Make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa. My home is your home. Come with me. There are several guest bedrooms in this wing. Choose whichever room you like. They all have spectacular views, don't they?'

Michael Starsky agreed that yes, indeed all the views were quite spectacular, and that it was very difficult to choose which one of the most beautiful rooms he was offered, but that on the whole, he thought he would take this one, if the master of the house did not object. They chatted for a few moments about the good points of this room over the other rooms, about the benefits of having sunlight in the morning rather than in the afternoon, and about the view of the Valley of the Kings versus that of the Valley of the Queens. They both agreed that it was time for a wash, and a rest, now that the heat of the afternoon was on them.

Ken found his own room, had a quick wash in cool water, lay down upon his bed, and closed his eyes.

I am a stranger in a strange land, he thought. Or have I come home, at last? What just happened? Whose voice was that, calling to me? If they were in fact calling to me. Was it a memory from my childhood? Or not a memory or not a dream at all, but merely an accident of sound waves, echoing around the cliffs? It was someone else's life, and not at all my own, that I overheard.

The interior walls of the house were, like the exterior walls, bare adobe. Adobe made from the local clay mixed with sand. It changed in tone, according to the light. At the moment, the walls appeared pale beige. The high, glassless windows were covered with long, white net curtains. There was a wide arched doorway, leading out to a patio, and this was also hung with white curtains, usually drawn back. For now, they were closed, but one of the curtains moved, and swayed, as if in a breeze. This land was not known for its stray breezes, especially in the late afternoon.

Ken sat up. The curtain moved again, and a flickering shadow danced over the bare beige wall. He thought he heard footsteps, and a voice, calling, calling. Something touched his face -- fingers, or tears.

He got down off the bed, and walked to the patio doorway. There was no breeze. The curtains were hanging perfectly still. No light, and no shadows flickered on the adobe walls. He went out onto the patio, and looked off to the west. The rays of the sun reached down towards the earth, bestowing its blessings upon all men, without discrimination. Re-Horakhty. Re, Horus of the horizon, and the creator of the world. His greatest friend and ally is Ma'at. Order and truth.

I was dreaming, thought Ken. I fell asleep, and dreamt, and that is all.

He found the housekeeper overseeing preparations for dinner.

'Oh, Mr. Hutchinson, sir. I thought you were asleep. Is there anything I can do for you?'

'Yes, please tell me where my grandfather kept the plans for the house? He has been doing renovations here for years, and he wished me to keep them up.'

'Certainly, sir,' she said, using the Western style of address, which his grandfather had much preferred. She led him to the library, a vast storehouse of books in many languages, most of which Ken Hutchinson couldn't read. He knew Arabic fairly well, of course. And his grandfather had insisted that he learn Egyptian hieroglyphics. Ken hadn't protested that. Hieroglyphics were fun to read, and his grandfather was a good teacher.

The house plans were locked away in a large safe, along with old letters, and other things that one would not consider worth hiding in a strong box that could survive an earthquake.

Michael Starsky found him in the library several hours later, studying the house plans. He jumped at the hand on his shoulder.

'No, no. I'm sorry,' said Ken Hutchinson, over Michael Starsky's apologies. 'I didn't intend to be in here so long. But did you know my grandfather was crazy, Mr. Starsky? I'm sorry to have to say it, but he was. Look at these plans. It will take a lifetime to do all this. Was he building his own pyramid, do you think?'

'He did indeed love this house.'

'I know that, but at times I think he was obsessed with it.'

I don't want to become obsessed as well, thought Ken. At times, in these notes, my grandfather writes as if the house were alive. As though it will reward good behaviour, and punish the bad. As though the house has needs, and loves, and hatreds. As though it can think.

'Dinner will be served in a few moments, sir,' said the housekeeper, from the doorway of the library. 'Would you like it served in the dining room?'

'No, not at all,' said Ken. 'There is a small sitting room that is much more comfortable. And if you would join us, I would appreciate it.'

The housekeeper nodded, and agreed.

What I need is a good meal, and a good night's sleep, thought Ken. In the morning, I will explore this house, and banish all fantasies from my mind. I will do as my grandfather wished, and no more than that. This house is just adobe walls, and nothing more.

 

**************

 

The morning sun turned the adobe walls to a rosy pink. The house was obviously feeling more cheerful this morning than he was, thought Ken. His sleep had been restless, interrupted by strange dreams. He couldn't remember the dreams now, only that they had been disturbing.

Michael Starsky was holed up in the library, translating the Starsky family chronicles from Hebrew into Arabic, and thence into English. 'If you are very certain you wish to read them,' he said. 'One would think they would be boring to outsiders.'

'No. Not boring at all,' said Ken. 'I assure you I am waiting for your translation with bated breath.'

'I understand that means you are holding your breath until I am finished,' said Michael Starsky, solemnly. 'I hope the results are worth the trouble.'

Worth the trouble, thought Ken, as he set off toward the older sections of the house, some time later. Someone thought recording the history of your family and their relationship with my family to be worth the trouble. I wonder why it was necessary, though?

He was armed with detailed houseplans, a flashlight, and a bottle of water, to explore the entire property, and banish the ghosts -- in which he didn't believe at all, he kept assuring himself. The older parts of the house had not been lived in for an age, it seemed. Rooms that rambled around a courtyard, and made side excursions into the cliffs. Rooms like caves, carved out of the solid rock. His grandfather had done a lot of restoration since the last time Ken had visited here. In his childhood, this wing had been blocked off, protected by a locked gate. He had sneaked in one day, to explore, and spent the next week washing dishes for the entire archaeological team. Now it was open to the public, so to speak.

An entire extended family must have lived here once, thought Ken. He wondered if there had been fortified walls protecting the inhabitants. His grandfather would have excavated the remains, if there had been. Perhaps there was something about it in his notes. Ken looked down at the house plans. Just around that corner, was a stairwell, going up. Going up to what? Ken turned the corner. He was now in one of the most cave-like parts of the building. The stairwell was dark, and he turned on his flashlight. The walls were carved from the cliffs themselves, and so were the steps -- and there were many of them. The stairwell wound its way, up and up. Ken almost thought of turning back, when at last he saw daylight, just above him.

The stairwell opened onto some sort of lookout. His grandfather had added new ironwork railings, as a safety measure. The view from here was spectacular. It was also very odd.

The house should be directly below him, but most of it seemed to have disappeared. The newer parts could not be seen at all. He could see nothing of the road out front of the house, and the village beyond was smaller than it had been only yesterday. It must be a trick of the perspective, he thought. The pyramids off in the middle distance were eternal. But there should be tour buses on the roads, this time of the morning. All Ken could see, was a train of camels slowly wending its way to the town of Thebes. As for the town of Thebes itself....

He felt dizzy, suddenly. Perhaps he had climbed the stairs too quickly. Heights didn't normally bother him. He decided to go back down, and turned for the stairwell.

A young man was standing in the doorway, smiling, and stretching out his hand. 'Kenneth!' said the young stranger. 'Hutch.' He spoke Ken's boyhood nickname with an odd accent, but an expression of surprised joy. He stepped out, into the sunlight, and disappeared.

Right, thought Ken. Not conversant with local climate any longer. Been away too long. Need to go lie down. He started rather nervously through the stone doorway, but no bodies appeared to block his way. He sighed in relief as he felt the relative coolness of the stone cave revive him.

'Kenneth?' said the voice behind him. This time it was a sad cry, almost one of despair, and he couldn't help but turn around to look. The stranger from the stairwell now stood upon the lookout, in the full sunlight. But he was no longer so young. His face was tired and haggard, and his clothes were worn and dusty. 'Kenneth. Min fadlak....' he said.

Min fadlak? Please? Please what? Ken backed up, into the darkened stairwell, and the man on the lookout cried out, in agony. 'No! Wait! Don't go.' He ran towards Ken, and disappeared once more.

Ken sat down upon the stone steps, until he stopped shaking. It wasn't only the uncanny experience of seeing a ghost in broad daylight, he thought. But there was the feeling of something very wrong. Something he should fix.

Michael Starsky was still in the library, busily translating. He looked up as Ken walked in. 'You look as though you've seen a ghost,' he said.

'I have,' said Ken. 'He looked just like one of your grandsons, before he disappeared.'

'Disappeared, did he? Sounds like one of my grandsons. They're good at disappearing, when there are chores to be done. But you sound serious. Did you really see a spirit?'

'Twice,' said Ken. 'The same spirit, I think, several minutes apart. But, ghosts don't age, do they? I mean, they're already dead, so they can't age. I need a drink, and I need to sit down.' He sat down at the library table.

Michael Starsky excused himself for a minute, and came back into the room with a bottle of brandy, and two glasses. 'It's a bit early to drink,' he said. 'But you do look as if you need it, and I'll keep you company. What happened?'

'I was exploring the old house. Someone appeared on the stairs, then vanished. It made me a bit nervous, so I started back here, but he showed up again. Older this time, but the same man, I'm sure of it. And he knew me. He spoke my name.'

'You are sure this was not someone playing a joke on you?' asked Michael Starsky.

'I'm sure. Who would play such a joke, and why? To frighten me off from the house? There may be a reason someone might wish to keep me away from here, I suppose. But it won't work. I don't scare so easily. And I wasn't so much frightened, as disturbed. The ghost knew me.'

'Ghosts do haunt people they know,' Michael Starsky pointed out.

'Yes. But he seemed to know me well, and I didn't know him. Other than the fact he looked like one of your lazy grandsons, I mean. He seemed upset that I didn't know him, though. And ghosts don't age, do they?'

'I don't know,' said Michael Starsky. 'I've never seen a ghost.'

*****************

This is a mystery that needs solving, thought Ken, as he prepared for bed. And I'm a detective. It may well be there is someone playing a trick on me, for reasons of their own. I need to study the house plans more thoroughly. Maybe there is some trap door, up there on the lookout, and a workman discovered it, and thought it would be fun to do a little haunting. Though why enact that little tragic drama that makes no sense? What's wrong with "Boo!"? In the meantime, I'm a grown man, and ghosts don't scare me, even if they're real ghosts. As far as I know, no one has ever been killed by a ghost. Live people kill each other every day, and I've seen that with my own eyes.

He turned off the lights, leaving the room dark, illuminated only by the moonlight, and stretched out on the bed, under a light cover.

The man had looked so sad, the second time, he thought. And I seemed to have been the cause of his sorrow. "Please," he said. "Don't go." But he was the one who disappeared. And how can I stay with him? He's a ghost, and I'm alive.

The mosquito netting around the bed stirred, though there was no breeze. It stirred again, then opened, as if by an invisible hand. 'Who's there?' asked Ken.

'Only me,' said a voice, in Arabic. 'I have found you again. It has been too long.'

A warm body, very un-spirit-like, pressed up against his own.

'Kenneth,' said the voice, drawing out the soft syllables of the name that he had never really liked. 'Touch me. It has been too long. Why can you not stay? It is so unfair.'

His ghostly visitor was most definitely a man, Ken discovered. The man rained kisses down upon his face, and touched and stroked him as if his flesh were some vast and wonderful treasure that had been lost and now was found.

'I... I must say,' said Ken, in Arabic. 'That this is an unusual situation for me. I don't often have to ask this of someone who has their hand around my cock. But what is your name? If you don't mind telling me?'

The other man gasped, and pulled his hand away. Ken caught at his wrist, and held on tightly.

'I didn't say you had to stop,' he told his anonymous lover. 'I didn't say I didn't like it. I only asked your name. You know my name, but I don't know yours. It only seems fair, for us to be on an equal level of acquaintance, don't you think?'

'You... you do not know my name?' asked his visitor. 'Oh. Did I come here at the wrong time, again? I did not mean to do such a thing.'

'Don't go,' said Ken. 'That's what you said to me, earlier. I saw you, on the stairwell. You spoke my name.'

'Did I?' asked the spirit. 'I do not remember. It is all so confusing. But we have been apart so long. Let me stay a while. I promise not to touch you again. All I want is to be near you.'

'Oh, you can touch me if you like,' said Ken. 'I like it too. Just tell me your name, and you can touch me all you want.'

'My name,' said the strange man. 'You really do not know my name. It is David. David Starsky.'

 

'David Starsky,' said Ken Hutchinson, slowly. 'David Starsky,' he said again.

'Ah, so you do remember me,' said David Starsky.

'I remember the name. It was in the Starsky family chronicle. Michael Starsky read them to me. Parts of them.'

'Michael Starsky? Ah, yes. You have told me of him. So did your grandfather tell me of him.'

'You knew my grandfather?' asked Ken, eagerly.

'I know him, yes. You used to visit me with him, when you were a little boy. We were friends, in those days. Do you not remember me, even yet?'

'Remember?' Ken remembered dreams of a distant land, and a little boy with blue eyes. His name had been David. 'Yes, I remember,' he admitted, at last. 'But I thought it all a dream, or a fantasy, like children have. You know?'

'I know,' said Starsky. 'We played together, but no one else could see you. Everyone else thought you were an imaginary friend, of the sort that little children create. Eventually, I learned to pretend I saw you no more. But I did see you. And I touched you, and spoke with you, in secret. And one day, we grew up.' Starsky touched his cock, again, stroked it, gently. 'You are all grown up now, do you see. So am I. And you don't remember making love?' He laughed, delightedly. 'The first time I ever made love was with you. You told me that in the future, I would teach you how to make love, and then you would come back to the past to return the favour. I didn't understand then, but I understand it all now. Now, it is my turn to teach you to make love.'

Ken started to say that he had had sex many times, that he'd been married, and had several male lovers. He looked up into David Starsky's eyes. They were hot blue flames, that seared him from his flesh down to his bones, and thence to the very depths of his soul. Those blue eyes were burning with love for him, and him alone.

'Yes,' said Ken Hutchinson. 'Teach me how to make love.'

Starsky sighed, and smiled, and lay down beside him. 'I remember all the things you taught me,' he said. 'The words you said. They ring in my soul, like bells of beaten bronze. They echo, through me, through time. They are truth. And they led me to an understanding. There is no one truth. There is no truth that is singular, and indivisible, no matter what may be taught in some aspects of religion. We talk about it in bed, you know.'

'Talk? In bed?' asked Ken, trying to keep a straight face. 'About religion?'

David Starsky was laughing himself, however. 'About religion,' he said. 'Of all things. But yes, we talk. I tell you my beliefs, and you tell me yours. And you taught me that the body doesn't determine our fates. It is our souls that call out to each other. They need to be together, even if we are separated by time. And by so much time. Too much time. Oh, Hutch. I would die to be with you, if that was the only way.' He pulled Ken close to him.

Ken could almost feel it himself, that calling of soul to soul. He remembered the voices calling to him as he entered the door, that first day -- Ken Hutchinson, you are mine. He remembered arches, in time and space, and the coolness of a cave in the hot afternoon of an Egyptian summer. He remembered a well, and cool water when he was thirsty, held out to him by a beloved hand....

'Yes, you are beginning to remember, now,' said Starsky. 'You are beginning to hear my soul calling to yours. It is our souls that call out to each other. But we answer with our bodies. Like this.'

Ken felt his body gathering the letters, the syllables, the words of his answer. Soon, he would be able to form entire sentences.

'Hutch!' said Starsky. His eyes blazed again with that bright blue flame. A spark of that flame leapt from his eyes across the short distance to Ken's heart.

Ken opened his mouth to answer, but only a sob emerged. Starsky covered his mouth with his own, and Ken abandoned the attempt to answer with words. He answered with his body instead. He felt Starsky's cock pressing against his belly. It was warm, and hard, and quivering with need, and it seemed so sad and so ridiculous that it should be lonely when it could be buried deep inside his own body. He twined his legs around Starsky's body, and Starsky's cock slid into the crevice between his thighs.

'You want me there?' asked Starsky, perhaps in words, perhaps with his body, perhaps with his soul -- Hutch never really knew.

'Yes,' he answered.

***********

'I never let anyone else do that,' he told Starsky, afterwards, in the deepest peace he had ever known.

'I know,' said Starsky. His voice was very soft, and knowing.

They lay quietly for a long time, watching time pass. A ray of moonlight found its way in through the high, deep window, and played with the shadows on the wall.

'Time is passing,' said Starsky. 'Time is our enemy.'

'Why?' asked Hutch. 'Why can't you stay here with me?'

'Why can't you stay there with me?' asked Starsky, in his turn. 'It never works out, Hutch. It is unfair. It is all wrong. We should be together for all time, but it never happens, and it will not happen. Not in my lifetime. I turn a corner one day, and you are gone, back in your own time. And it is difficult -- no, it is terrible -- to be invisible to everyone but your lover. At first it is fun. To do or to say whatever you want, and not to be noticed. But then, you realize you do not exist. Here, I exist only to you. In my time, you exist only to me. It is hard to bear for any length of time.'

'But you visit me at night?' asked Hutch, desperately.

'When I can,' said Starsky. 'When it is the right time, like tonight. We were in luck, tonight.'

'Yes,' said Hutch. 'Tonight. Does my luck still hold?'

'Are you asking me to do it again?' asked David Starsky, perhaps in words.

The moonlight was chasing the shadows on the wall. The shadows caught at the moonlight, and swallowed it. Or perhaps the moon had simply gone behind a cloud. The lack of moonlight cast the room deep in its deepest darkness. David Starsky was invisible to Ken Hutchinson's eyes, and only his warmth and heaviness made him real to Hutch's senses. In the darkness, their souls spoke, each to each, and their bodies answered.

************

Sunlight streamed through the window, and the shadows fled. The netting around the bed stirred. David Starsky warm body was no longer answering the questions of his soul. Ken Hutchinson turned, and reached across the bed, but the bed was empty.

'Starsky?' he called, but this time there was no answer.

 

*******************

 

'I'm going to be gone for a few days,' said Ken. 'I can't say exactly when I will return, so expect me at any time. If I am gone longer -- well, it can't be helped. Don't send out search parties.'

His housekeeper, Mrs. Mahfouz, nodded. 'Your grandfather said the same, when he went on one of his expeditions,' she said. 'You are very like him, are you not?'

'I suppose I am,' Ken admitted.

I look like Lawrence of Arabia, he thought, studying himself in a mirror. He was wearing the gallabiyya -- a loose Egyptian robe -- sandals, and the traditional Egyptian head covering. He did, however, have a backpack, with a bottle of water, a package of granola, and a flashlight, among other modern conveniences. Also, he was carrying his gun. No one ventured out into the Egyptian wilderness without a means to defend themselves, even in this day and age.

He turned to the window. Outside, perched in the palm trees, sat a flock of white ibis. A good omen, he thought.

Ibis were sacred to Thoth, whose name means Truth and Time. Thoth was the husband of Ma'at -- Order and Balance. The opposite of Isfet -- chaos. He wondered if what he was about to do would result in ma'at, or create more isfet. But his soul was not as light as the feather of Ma'at, despite the fact that a considerable portion of it had gone missing in the past.

He opened the front door of the house, and strode out into the village, walking purposefully, as one going on a journey, into a known future.

An hour later, he returned cautiously, creeping carefully through the palm trees, hiding behind rocks, until he found the concealed entrance to the older parts of the house. The wards of the small key which he had found in his grandfather's safe, matched the wards in the lock of this door. The hinges of the door creaked, but there was no one to hear.

Silently he crept along the hallways. This part of the house had been long closed off to all but the workmen, and the atmosphere was one of dust and lifelessness. Then, it was not. Between one step and the next, one heartbeat and the next, he seemed to pass beyond the veil that hid one world from the next. Voices and footfalls. Sounds of urgency. Bustle of preparation. Someone brushed past him, jumped, turned to look at him, but didn't look at him. Looked through him. The man shivered, laughed. 'I vow this place is haunted,' he said in Arabic, and went on his way.

Someone else turned to see what was about. David Starsky's blue eyes met Ken's. The eyes widened. The mobile mouth tilted in a smile. The eyes and smile were friendly, but innocent. They held no knowledge of the pleasures they had shared the night before. This was a younger David Starsky. Ken smiled into those innocent eyes, and watched the reaction. Innocence, yes. But no lack of desire. Joy, even.

'David!' called a peremptory voice. 'We leave soon. Be ready!'

'Yes, Grandfather,' David Starsky answered.

They were alone in the hallway.

'You have returned at a bad time,' Starsky said, in a low voice. 'We are leaving on a journey. In part, we are going to a wedding. My sister is betrothed to a man who lives in Cairo, and the wedding is next month, so we are journeying there to prepare. The wedding will be in my uncle's house. But also, my grandfather hopes to build up our trading alliances.'

'I see,' said Ken. 'I will come with you. As you see, I have come prepared for a journey.' He showed Starsky his backpack.

'Do you carry with you the wonders of the future?' asked Starsky. 'You have shown me so many things....'

'David! David Starsky. What are you about? Lazy boy.' It was a female voice, this time.

'Mother,' said Starsky. 'I am not lazy. You must have me confused with Nicholai.'

'Not at all. Your brother is packed and ready. Get moving.'

'Yes, Mother.' Starsky smiled, ruefully.

'I'm sorry for holding you up,' said Ken, as he followed Starsky into his bedroom. 'May I help you?'

'You may help,' said Starsky, with a sweet smile. 'But keep an eye out for my family. If they walk in, and see my things floating in mid air....'

'Yes. I see,' said Ken. 'That would be difficult to explain.' He kept one eye on the door, while he helped Starsky tie his spare clothing into bundles.

'We will be gone for some weeks,' said Starsky. 'Perhaps we will have time to be alone, in secret. The last time you were here, you kissed me.'

'Did I?' asked Ken.

'Don't you remember?' Starsky's voice changed, from an almost sultry tone to one of adolescent awkwardness.

Ken realized the man was younger than he looked. People in this time aged more quickly, he thought. 'I remember kissing you,' he said, truthfully.

'We were both boys, then,' said Starsky. 'But you have grown up, faster than me.'

'No, not faster. It is just....' Ken gave up trying to understand the time shifts himself, let alone explain them to Starsky.

'You are grown up,' said Starsky, again. 'The last time we met, we were still boys, but you kissed me. You said that you wanted to love me. But then, you went away, and never came back. Until now. Why did you come back now? I had given up hope. I was almost beginning to believe I had dreamed you.'

'Because it's time,' said Ken. 'Because we're both men, and it's time.'

'Yes,' said Starsky. 'Come with me. But be careful. It is not easy, being invisible. Do you remember that? Never mind. I will help you. There were one or two times when we were boys, that you scared people. A few times that my family began to doubt my sanity.'

'I'm sorry,' said Ken Hutchinson.

Starsky reached out, and cupped his face with one hand. The hand slid around his neck, and touched the hair escaping from his turban. Ken shivered with remembered pleasure. Starsky smiled, and ran a lock of the hair through his fingers.

'Your hair is so soft,' said Starsky. 'It clings to my fingers like silk.'

Ken opened his mouth to answer, but heard a footstep in the hall outside the room. Starsky stepped back, quickly, and picked up his baggage. 'Let us be off,' he said.

'Yes, let us be off, lazy boy,' said a woman's voice from the doorway. 'Or your sister will be too old to marry, by the time we reach Cairo.'

'Mother, she is only fourteen,' Starsky pointed out.

'She is almost fifteen,' said Starsky's mother. 'And I am not long for this world. I am getting older with every passing moment. It is time to leave.'

Starsky caught Ken's eye, and barely hid his grin until his mother was safely out of the way. 'Are you still willing to come with me?' he asked.

Ken grinned back. 'Lead on, MacDuff,' he said.

'You were always saying things I didn't understand,' said Starsky. 'When did I become MacDuff?' He looked confused, but amused at the same time.

'It would take too long to explain,' said Ken. 'And besides, the quote is inaccurate. It should be "Lay on, MacDuff!"'

Their eyes met, and caught, and held. 'Would you like that better?' asked Starsky.

'David Starsky! The whole family is waiting. What are you doing? Get a move on, boy.' That was Starsky's grandfather, again, in a voice that brooked no opposition.

Starsky sighed. 'If I dared,' he said. 'I would tell them to go on without me, and stay here with you. But it is my sister's wedding.'

'We'll talk about this later,' said Ken.

'Yes. I like talking with you. I can say things I couldn't say to anyone else. I know you won't be offended, or angry, or frightened by what I say.'

They stood for a moment in the doorway of the house. Ken Hutchinson looked out upon the Egyptian landscape of several centuries in the past. He had been here before, he remembered. But he had thought those visits were dreams, or his childish imagination. Even the last visit Starsky had spoken of, when he had kissed his boyhood playmate, and told him he wanted more. That had been in his teens, yet he dismissed it as a fantasy afterwards, and put it out of his mind. What was different now? Last night, he realized. What we did last night made us part of each other. Now, I cannot dismiss him, and go back to my old life.

There was a camel train waiting just outside the gates. 'I have my own camel,' said Starsky, proudly. 'I bought her last year, with my own money.'

'We're going by camel train?' asked Ken. 'Not on the Nile?'

'Not by the Nile,' said Starsky softly, as they climbed up on his camel. Ken got up behind him. Starsky's camel snorted, and shivered and raised her head to wail in protest at the extra weight, but that was typical camel behaviour, and no one paid any attention. 'The Nile route is too dangerous for such a long journey. The brigands use it as well. We'll be joining a larger camel train, as we move North. That's why we're so anxious to be off.'

The camel struggled to her feet, growling to herself about the stupid human beings who insisted on making long journeys in daylight for no good reason. Starsky swatted her, and threatened to turn her into dinner if she didn't behave. Her head swivelled around on her long neck, and she gazed at Starsky with her startlingly beautiful eyes. Then her eyes slid past Starsky, and seemed to light upon Ken. She started, and sniffed, and snorted, and shook her head.

'I think she sees you,' said Starsky. 'Or she sees something strange.'

'That's me,' said Ken. 'Something strange. At least in this time and place.'

The camel shook her head again, and raised her eyes to the heavens in the long-suffering attitude of the females of all species when they consider the vagaries of males. She heaved a deep sigh, and joined the camel train as it set off across the desert.

 

************


End file.
